


is your way mine?

by 1roomdisco, bottomchanyeol



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Character Study, Fake Dating, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rimming, Straight Characters, chanyeol identifies as str8 but boi, more on a/n, yifan is harmless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-04 20:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17311328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1roomdisco/pseuds/1roomdisco, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomchanyeol/pseuds/bottomchanyeol
Summary: “Did I tell you already that you look so pretty today?”Chanyeol keeps his face impassive, shrugging. “Only fifty other times.”Or:In which Chanyeol enjoys flaunting his pretty face to both girls andmen,and, well. It’s not everyday your superior at work agreed to fake dating you, so.- This fanwork was written for round 2 of the bottom!Chanyeol fest [2018/19].





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeolmisc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeolmisc/gifts).



> biggest thank you to the mods for being so patient and accommodating and just. freaking awesome. another massive thanks to the graphic artist who revised my request a couple of times asjdfjajskfjka.
> 
> to the prompter: sincerely, i had a good time writing my OG OTP please please tell me what you think  
> in the comment yeah? ▼・ᴥ・▼
> 
> to all readers, please enjoy. do google chanyeol/taejoon or chanyeol/cnblue jonghyun because yours truly never put half-assed, random love interests just bc he can jaskjdfka. all mistakes are mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Congratulations on surviving the first month of internship!”

Trust Baekhyun to spew out such motivational speech for the occasion, even though they do _deserve_ the toast for staying alive. Grinning from ear to ear, Chanyeol drinks the soju shot with a loud _aaah!_ Eight more weeks to go.

Jongdae doesn’t wait for his and Baekhyun’s cue as he moves swiftly to refill their glasses. The trio takes the shot, banging respective body parts to show their satisfaction for the upcoming weekend. Like the real adults they are.

Baekhyun asks, taking a rice cake from the heated cooking pan in front of them, “Kyungsoo is coming, right?”

“He’s on his way,” Chanyeol answers, taking a fish cake and a big chunk of kimchi. “Did you order his seafood bibimbap?” he asks Jongdae.

Jongdae nods, but then he’s frowning. “I guess so?” he grimaces.

Chanyeol calls the ahjumma owner to ask about Kyungsoo’s order and she says it’s coming in a few minutes. He thanks her, giggling when she actually pauses to admire table number 5 because apparently it’s full with handsome young men. She tells them to enjoy their time, and goes to the kitchen only to come back again with Kyungsoo’s seafood bibimbap _and_ a plate of baked sweet potato drizzled in hot and sticky sugar syrup. On the house.

“She meant me, you guys are just my sidekicks,” Baekhyun says in his usual, nonchalant narcissism both Chanyeol and Jongdae are immune to.

Oh the perks of being young and good-looking.

Soon, they’re busy gobbling the spicy stir-fried chicken. It might be spring already, but the wind is still kind of cold in Seoul. The restaurant is spacious enough, warm and very popular with the likes of salarymen to have dinner before moving to smaller or bigger establishments to drink their hearts out. Thankfully there’s no sign of familiar faces from their company located two blocks away from here.

“Alright, fellas, spill the beans,” Baekhyun starts, clapping his hands like he’s coaxing toddlers in a daycare. He’s got The Byun’s Mischievous Glint in his eyes, a look that easily associates with either: a) trouble, or b) adventure that will be memories worth to brag in, say, ten years from now.

They scored a 3-months internship at Yuán Fèn International PR Agency, thanks to their joint resume. Bold move, very _progressive_ ,  but that’s exactly what the reputable company wanted from interns. Chanyeol is assigned to the Regional division 1, handling domestic clients. Baekhyun is in Business Risk division, and Jongdae is in NGO division. They all need to write a final paper regarding their interning experience in order to graduate.

Baekhyun seems to be done eating. He leans back against the wooden chair, patting his face with a napkin. “Tell me the hot stuffs about your team,” he says again, quieter, and finishes a glass of water.

Chanyeol is thinking. His team consists of Chief Choi, Yuri and Yoona-sunbaenim, and himself. They’re reporting and consulting to the Executive Chief Kim. They’re all professional, beautiful women, probably a little bit too immersed in his _duality_ ; a term that he’s familiar enough ever since he understood that it didn’t hurt him to look _pretty_ at times, especially since he didn’t look like _this_ growing up. When they first met him, they had gasped out loud because he looks so cute with his big, big eyes and pouty lips, yet his towering height and low baritone don’t really suit him.

Yoona-sunbaenim actually gave him a _pastel pink_ hairpin as a welcome gift. Now that Chanyeol remembers, he’s going to the barber tomorrow. He needs a new haircut to make him look manlier or something.

“Nope,” he finally answers, shrugging. “Also, before you ask, both Yuri and Yoona-sunbaenim are already taken.”

Baekhyun clicks his tongue, not even bothering to deny that he’s into older women.

Jongdae is laughing at Baekhyun, but cuts himself off to yell, waving his short arms like a jellyfish swimming in the ocean,

“Dyo Kyungs! You made it!”

Kyungsoo hurries to table number 5, clutching the straps of his backpack. His cute cheeks are reddened because of the cold weather, and he’s got the hood of his black hoodie up. He plops down next to Chanyeol, staring lifelessly to the table for a good few seconds while Chanyeol pours a glass of lukewarm water for him. He’s the only one among them who gets to wear casual clothes to the office.

The four protagonists are students at Hongik University. They had their first meeting during the freshmen mixed orientation between Public Relations and Software Engineering major in Busan for two days and one night. They were put in the same group of six people, performing an acoustic piece, and maybe, back then, it’s the same confused look he’s got on his face right now that had made them decide unanimously to drag him into their merry, _loud_ , little group.

“Hi, guys,” Kyungsoo finally greets them, his husky voice almost inaudible. He notices Chanyeol pushing the glass for him and takes it, holding it in his palms but not drinking it yet.

Baekhyun nods. “You’re alive, at least.”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo smiles, his cute cheeks forming twin apples. He blinks, then asks, raising his thick eyebrows towards the stone bowl in the middle of the table, “Is that mine?”

While Kyungsoo eats, Jongdae volunteers to gossip about the myth in east wing’s women restroom. There’s a female ghost who goes wandering the hallway at times. She doesn’t harm people, but will most likely leave handprints on the mirror or on your computer’s mouse and telephone. At the end of the month, if you find some strawberry-flavored energy bar lying around in odd places, just leave it be. The moment Jongdae said the word ‘ghost’, Baekhyun has been cupping his hands over his ears, protesting that _that_ wasn’t the kind of tea he would like to sip, to which Jongdae whines that’s all he got so far??

“I have one,” Kyungsoo says, not looking up from his half-finished dinner, “a senior of mine is dating a rookie actress.” 

“Now that’s more like it!” Baekhyun exclaims, snapping his fingers and pulling his chair closer to Kyungsoo’s side. 

“Do you have pictures?” Jongdae asks the most important thing, since Kyungsoo is interning at Microsoft Korea.

But Kyungsoo shakes his head, the hood is revealing his close-cropped hair. The tips of his ears are also reddened. 

“Never mind, there she is,” Kyungsoo says, pointing at the flat screen propped over the wall, showing a family city car advertisement.

“Yaaah, she’s so cute tho!” Baekhyun whistles, raising his glass for Kyungsoo’s senior.

Chanyeol hums, picking the sweet potato dessert with a toothpick. “I thought rookie actress would be discreet about her relationship?”

Kyungsoo nods. “I accidentally read their Kakao in my senior’s desktop,” he says, “he doesn’t even change her name. ‘Lee Minah’. They were talking about her schedule this week.”

“Maybe your senior thought no one will be suspicious, Lee Minah is a very common name.” Chanyeol offers a possible explanation, to which everyone nods their admission. He grins. “Is your senior handsome?”

Kyungsoo reaches over to get a fishcake, eats it, and chooses his words carefully.

“No, you’re more handsome than he is, Chanyeol-ah,” he says, then rolling his eyes at Chanyeol’s over the top reaction. He raises a hand to stop Chanyeol from making ridiculous Vogue poses, and Baekhyun and Jongdae are snickering like two obnoxious kids they are.

Kyungsoo hums, looking serious. “You know, you must have that one senior you admired in high school just because he… existed? If you know what I mean? He’s like that. Kind. Super funny. Nothing too fancy, but you can’t help to ask his whereabouts when he’s not around.”

“I feel you,” Jongdae sighs, grinning, using the heel of his palm to wipe something from the corner of his eyes. He pours everyone a shot and raises his glass. “We all have that one senior we admired in high school. Here’s to our awesome male seniors, may they have the best in whatever they’re doing right now!”

“Hear, hear!” Baekhyun and Chanyeol chirp in, while Kyungsoo clinks his glass mutely and drinks only half of the shot.

Jongdae is changing his tone in between his toothy smile. He says, somehow in a sudden urgency, “Everybody stay calm but I think Baekhyun’s GQ model sunbae is here.”

As Chanyeol is processing who the heck Jongdae is referring to, Jongdae continues, like he’s not being a smiley creep, “With someone looking like an angel holy shit.”

Baekhyun is mouthing a name to Jongdae, who gives the subtlest of nod. Kyungsoo takes the remaining shot in his glass, bites his upper lip, turns his _whole body_ towards the main entrance, and says in a conversational tone, addressing someone,

“Joonmyun-hyung?” 

The man looking like an angel—Jongdae wasn’t lying—zeroes his focus on Kyungsoo. His handsomeness intensifies when recognition dawns in his eyes and a smile is gracing his handsome face. Chanyeol doesn’t think he’s seen anyone that _handsome_ before, in a totally conventional Korean way; his black hair is coiffed to show his forehead. A pair of small, double-lidded eyes with tall nose, thin lips, and strong jawline. His skin is so white. Kyungsoo’s friend is so handsome. 

Chanyeol is well aware that he said ‘handsome’ four times now. 

When the man and Baekhyun’s GQ model sunbae—who is Chanyeol kidding that’s the one and only Yifan-sunbaenim—are at their table, Chanyeol envies how their expensive, tailored suits are hugging their bodies like a comfortable second skin. His is also expensive, a gift from Appa, but it needs alteration here and there if he wants to look like them. Chanyeol is just glad that he’s waaay taller than Kyungsoo’s friend and he’s eye to eye with Yifan-sunbaenim when he stands up to greet them.

“Wu Yifan-sunbaenim, good evening!” Baekhyun bows down low to his senior in Business Risk division, his hands clasped politely in front of him.

 _He’s nervous lol_ , Chanyeol thinks, hiding his smirk with a smile, and when he glances at Jongdae whose eyes _sparkle_ at the sight of two fine men, he has to mask his snort with a fake cough.

Kyungsoo is the one who’s still sitting down, looking at his friend with his large eyes. He’s not a rude kid whatsoever, it’s just the way he is, and deducting from the _fond_ chuckle his friend is having while stroking Kyungsoo’s head with one white, gentle hand, it is perfectly clear that he’s used to such unconventional occurrence. 

Besides, _no one_ touches Kyungsoo’s bald head, ever, if they still want to see the sun.

But this friend?

“Kyungsoo-yah, look at you,” Kyungsoo’s friend— _Joonmyun?_ Even his name sounds expensive—says, and of course his teeth are white and perfect. His hand is not leaving Kyungsoo’s head just yet. 

“It’s been a while.” 

And then the weirdest thing happens. Kyungsoo _beams_ like a little kid discovering his favorite blanket his mother has been hiding for his sake since he’s a big boy now and a big boy needs to learn not to get too attached to a blanket—because Kyungsoo doesn’t usually look like _that_ , okay, his nickname is _OwlSoo_ because of his large eyes, okay? This is so new, and he, Baekhyun and Jongdae are all exchanging a telepathic agreement over the discovery. 

Kyungsoo sighs. Happily. “Yes. Hi, hyung.” 

“Hi,” Joonmyun indulges Kyungsoo’s awkwardness and smiles to everyone. “Hi, how are you guys? Kim Joonmyun, nice to meet you.”

He shakes everyone’s hands and Yifan-sunbaenim, who has stayed silent, goes to shake Kyungsoo’s.

“Hi, Wu Yifan,” he says in his pleasant voice. It’s low, but Chanyeol’s is even lower. It’s not a competition, but heh. Still. Feels good knowing that he wins in the low voice department.

“Do Kyungsoo,” Kyungsoo answers, leaning further back on the wooden chair, making Joonmyun’s hand resting on his nape.

Chanyeol’s, Baekhyun’s and Jongdae’s eyebrows are climbing higher.

“Are you Hongik’s student as well?” Yifan-sunbaenim asks and Kyungsoo nods once.

Yifan-sunbaenim is quick to catch up on Kyungsoo’s quirk. He pats Baekhyun’s stiff back and says, “You guys have fun, I’ll be over there with Joonmyun. He’s a junior from my uni.” With a parting bow, he goes to a table at the other side of the restaurant, his broad back is really made to wear _expensive suit_ and Chanyeol accepts his defeat that his won’t look as perfect from behind.

Baekhyun perks up like a puppy, bowing politely at Joonmyun. “SNU represents?”

Joonmyun chuckles, obviously liking Baekhyun’s easygoing approach. He pinches Kyungsoo’s cheek before bidding everyone a great night.

It’s Jongdae who spazzes, demanding to know if Joonmyun was Kyungsoo’s That One Senior in High School, and Kyungsoo just gives him a blank look before shrugging like it’s not a big deal.

“Speaking of,” Baekhyun whispers, knowing full well that he’s back-facing Yifan-sunbaenim and Joonmyun’s table. “I’ve got something about GQ model sunbae.”

Right. _GQ model sunbae_ is Yifan-sunbaenim’s nickname that Jongdae blurted out the moment he laid his eyes on the older man.

“What is it?” Jongdae hisses as he pours soju to his own glass.

Baekhyun takes one sweet potato dessert with his chopsticks.

“Just that he’s actually going to run our company in a few years.”

Jongdae drops his jaw. Kyungsoo doesn’t budge at all. To be honest, Chanyeol is not exactly surprised. The older man has a subtle force that differentiates himself from the rest of Seoul population. Chanyeol understands that one is either born with it or train himself to achieve such power. It is _power_ , no matter how you look at it.

Of course the clumsy, cute giant Park Chanyeol is envious.

“Are you saying he’s like, a chaebol?” Jongdae prods, the hand holding the soju shot is stilling in the air. 

“Pretty much, yeah.” Baekhyun says, taking over the glass from Jongdae’s hand, downing it despite Jongdae’s loud whining. 

“Anything on his relationship?”

“Not yet.”

“How about your friend, Dyo Kyungs? Is he a chaebol?”

“Joonmyun-hyung is from Seongbuk-dong.”

“Of course he is.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

On Monday, Chanyeol runs into Yoona in the lobby. She makes an ugly but cute face to express her distaste, asking whyyy did you cut your pretty hair?

Ah. Chanyeol kiiiiinda regrets it, too.

“It will be summer soon, sunbaenim,” Chanyeol pouts, bending his knees so he can tap his ID card on the speed gates. “Please don’t make me regret it even more.”

“Awww,” Yoona coos, flicking the shorter fringe of his dark brown hair. Her hand smells so soft like cotton softener, and her thin, white gold bracelet is tasteful on her dainty wrist, so different from Chanyeol’s new haircut.

Ugh!

Yoona does a thinking pose with a finger against her chin. This week, her nails are colored pastel green. “True. Maybe I should get my own summer haircut?”

Chanyeol grins. Yoona and Yuri are pretty much his second older sisters, he knows the way cool older sisters like to tease their younger brothers. Years of bickering and conspiring with Yoora—see, even his _biological_ older sister’s name is similar to theirs—becomes one of the reasons why he can click so easily with his two seniors. He’s not going to get upset because of a meh haircut. He needs to man up and own his decision!

“I’ll help you choose one that will suit you best,” Chanyeol says, pressing the going up button. When the elevator dings, Yoona’s phone rings. She has to take the phone call, telling Chanyeol to go ahead without her.

“I’ll be going first, sunbaenim!” Chanyeol bows at her as she gives him a cheeky fingerheart, twirling on her classic strap heels. 

Chanyeol glances to see who’s his elevator companion, and immediately bows again.

“Good morning,” Yifan-sunbaenim says, a small smile on his sculpted face. He was pressing the hold button, a minuscule quality that ticks Chanyeol’s personal Good Person List.

Chanyeol nods, can’t help but smiling back. “Good morning, Wu Yifan-sunbaenim.”

The elevator shudders to take them to the 19th floor. 

“Got a haircut?” Yifan asks once they pass the fifth floor, and Chanyeol is _overjoyed_ because hey! A suspected chaebol is actually making an effort to have a chit chat with an intern from different division! Jongdae is sooooo going to be jealous when he hears about this.

“Ah, yes.” Chanyeol scrunches his nose, his free hand automatically touching the back of his head. His nape is bare; the cold from the AC is caressing his skin.

“You look good, don’t worry,” Yifan-sunbaenim says, as if he can read Chanyeol’s mind. Or body language. And facial expression. Chanyeol is _transparent_ , has always been ever since he was a chubby kid with a pet ferret, a trait that Baekhyun tells him time and time again to change or else.

Chanyeol is about to open his mouth to thank Yifan-sunbaenim for the compliment when the elevator gives a sudden jerk, making him stumble. He manages to hold onto the cold railing just in time before falling face first, but Yifan-sunbaenim’s expensive leather briefcase is already on the floor.

The elevator jerks again, harder, and Chanyeol muffles his scream by gritting his teeth.

Then the elevator lurches down. Not drastically fast like in movies, and it’s over before Chanyeol can even start to realize that he’s panicking. Both Chanyeol and Yifan-sunbaenim are glued to their spots, not moving an inch until they’re sure the elevator has come to a complete stop.

Chanyeol’s knees are giving out on him.

His teeth are chattering. His heartbeats are too loud in his ears.

Yifan-sunbaenim seems to recover from the shock in no time at all. His eyes are closed and he’s exercising his breathing, taking his time to regain back his composure.

He presses the emergency call button once, twice, and clears his throat when the intercom cracks and buzzes, producing an unintelligible sound.

“Hello? Sir? Ma’am? Anyone can hear me?” Yifan-sunbaenim calls out to whoever is in charge.

Chanyeol can hear a voice responding.

“The elevator suddenly stopped.” Yifan-sunbaenim says a little bit louder, moving his head closer to the intercom. “I think we’re on the tenth floor now.”

A buzz as an answer.

“Yes? Can you repeat that?” 

 _“How many people are with you?”_ the operator, a male, says again in a clearer voice.

Yifan-sunbaenim tilts his head and waves one big, big hand to the CCTV placed high on the left corner of the ceiling. “One. I’m waving to the CCTV right now. Can you see me?”

 _“We apologize, sir, it seems that the CCTV has stopped functioning,”_ the operator pauses for a dozen of frantic heartbeats, and then he asks again, _“how’s the aircon in there, sir? Is it still working?”_  

“It’s still working.”

_“The lights?”_

“They’re fine.”

 _“Very well,”_ the operator says in a final tone, _“our support team will arrive at the scene in approximately ten minutes. We understand that it’s going to be hard, but kindly try not to panic during the evacuation procedure. May you state your name and your office, sir?”_

“Wu Yifan, Yuán Fèn International PR Agency, 19th floor,” Yifan-sunbaenim answers without hesitation, his tone never loses its undeterred quality of someone who’s suspectedly going to run an established company. “And may I know yours, sir?”

Chanyeol can hear the smile from the other end of the line. _“Thank you, my name is Lee Jinki. I will still be here if you need anything, Wu Yifan-sshi.”_

Yifan-sunbaenim nods to no one in particular. “Thank you for your assistance, Lee Jinki-sshi. Really appreciate it.”

Yeah, definitely in Chanyeol’s personal Good Person List.

There’s a final static buzz and then it’s just Yifan-sunbaenim sighing quietly and Chanyeol slumped in the corner, newly washed and ironed black suit and pants be damned.

Yifan-sunbaenim has his hands on his hips. He turns to find Chanyeol on the squeaky clean floor. He tries to smile, and Chanyeol sees it but he thinks his vision is blurred, somehow.

“Monday, huh?” Yifan-sunbaenim drawls, his lazy tone indicating that he’s _trying_ his best not to be affected by the sudden predicament. Probably to ease Chanyeol’s already affected being, as well. “Thank God I don’t have any meeting until later today. How about you, Chanyeol-sshi?”

Chanyeol is sure he’s answering, but he can’t hear his own voice.

“Chanyeol-sshi? Are you alright?” Yifan-sunbaenim asks, already kneeling by Chanyeol’s side and it’s weird; it really doesn’t make any sense in such situation, but Chanyeol can recognize the whiff of CK One anywhere since it’s Appa’s favorite fragrance.

If Yifan-sunbaenim notices that Chanyeol is taking a deep breath religiously, he chooses not to say anything. Well, _good_. He’s a really good man then.

Yifan-sunbaenim asks again, “How many fingers?” 

“I—” Chanyeol swallows down dry, bitter saliva. He frowns, not sure why he’s seeing double. How many fingers? He doesn’t even know _where_ Yifan-sunbaenim is!

He reaches out to grasp the nearest of Yifan-sunbaenim’s anything, and digs his nails to what feels like Yifan-sunbaenim’s opened palm. It’s not warm.

“Sunbaenim?”

“I’m here.” 

“Can you breathe? I don’t think I can breathe.” 

To think a future CEO can spout colorful profanity is beyond Chanyeol. He flinches, loosening his grip on Yifan-sunbaenim’s hand.

But the older man is quick to cradle both of Chanyeol’s hands, gently, squeezing them in an apologetic manner. 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Yifan-sunbaenim says, just as gently, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Chanyeol nods. 

“I’m—I’m going to undo your tie and the buttons of your shirt. Is that okay?”

Chanyeol blinks. His eyes are burning and his face is wet.

“Is it okay if I touch you, Chanyeol-sshi?”

“I can’t breathe,” Chanyeol wheezes, something is blocking his nose.

“I know,” Yifan-sunbaenim whispers, shushing him, one big, big hand placed on the column of Chanyeol’s neck. It’s cold, but his thumb is rubbing a comforting line against Chanyeol’s inner jawline. His hands are moving to unbutton the first two buttons of Chanyeol’s shirt before loosening Chanyeol’s slim, dark grey tie.

“Can you focus on my voice?” 

“Please—” Chanyeol closes his eyes, breathing through his mouth, probably creating unnecessary creases on the sleek sleeve of Yifan-sunbaenim’s expensive suit. He remembers the color, midnight blue, satin-like but it’s not. Yifan-sunbaenim’s striped tie is green, navy, and darker green. His shirt is white. His hair is black. He’s got fringe but they’re coiffed up tastefully. _Oh well,_ Chanyeol breathes out, frowning, _maybe I should copy his hairstyle? My forehead is pretty anyway._

He smells like Appa. Wonder what’s Appa doing with his golf buddies right about now. 

_I think he’s asking me a question…?_

“—you claustrophobic?” 

Chanyeol inhales the familiarity of Appa’s cologne on Yifan-sunbaenim, deep until his chest is tightening on him, and exhales.

 _“What?_ ”

“It’s okay,” Yifan-sunbaenim says, his tone unreadable, and he moves, letting the fluorescent light hits Chanyeol’s opened eyes.

Chanyeol pouts, glaring at Yifan-sunbaenim from behind his eyelashes.

There’s a burst of spit hitting his face and nose.

“Why are you laughing?!” Chanyeol whines, hitting Yifan-sunbaenim’s annoyingly broad, annoyingly shaky shoulders. “You’re so gross!” he wipes the dried tears tracks and spit off his face using the back of his hand. If only he and Yifan-sunbaenim were close, he would have smeared it on Yifan-sunbaenim’s expensive suit. He sniffs, settling to clean the back of his hand on his trousers for now.

And then the realization hits him.

“Oh, I’m breathing.” Chanyeol says that out loud, blushing when Yifan-sunbaenim straightens his posture, looks him _right in the eyes_ and taps his temple with his knuckles, gently, just like the, uh, fond smile that Chanyeol swears was on Kyungsoo’s Joonmyun-hyung handsome face last week.

Have male seniors always been this gentle before?

“That you are,” Yifan-sunbaenim quips, his smile is surprisingly gummy. Chanyeol’s vision is 20/20 so it’s… quite a disarming sight.

Yifan-sunbaenim keeps his gummy smile as he asks, “Feeling better?” 

“Y-yeah,” Chanyeol stutters, liking the discovery way too much. Probably because it doesn’t make any sense? Sure, he never thought Yifan-sunbaenim as someone _scary_ before; it’s not his fault he’s got Angry Birds-esque thick eyebrows—they don’t even work together at all and Baekhyun has said nothing but how the older man makes heads turn wherever they are. It’s just. The moment Jongdae dubbed him as GQ model sunbae, it was like a wall is erected upon him. Like he’s this _different_ entity from The Hongik Beagle Trio; so poised, so handsome, so untouchable.

And then the gummy smile breaks down a significant part of the wall and Chanyeol is just.

He’s just happy.

“How long have you been claustrophobic?” Yifan-sunbaenim asks, fishing out a handkerchief from the inner breast pocket of his suit. It’s a black and white chevron pattern.

Chanyeol closes his eyes when Yifan-sunbaenim dabs the soft cotton against the bridge of his nose.

“What is it again?” Chanyeol asks in return, mumbling. 

Yifan-sunbaenim uses his gentle thumb to uncover Chanyeol’s hopefully pretty forehead, holding back his shorter fringe and dabbing the sweat off Chanyeol’s skin. 

“I think it’s a fear of being trapped in an enclosed space,” Yifan-sunbaenim answers, his baritone is doing something to Chanyeol’s heart.

Chanyeol tries to laugh it off. “I didn’t even know I am claustrophobic.”

When Chanyeol opens his eyes again, Yifan-sunbaenim is sitting on the floor, legs crossed, one hand holding the handkerchief is resting on Chanyeol’s bony knee.

He asks, “But seriously, are you feeling better? Do you need anything? I have an energy bar, if you want.”

Chanyeol doesn’t even know what prompts him to ask, “Is it strawberry-flavored?”

Yifan-sunbaenim _laughs_ , there’s a twinkle in his dark eyes. 

“No, sorry.”

“You’re not the one giving her the monthly offering, then.”

“Who?” 

“Don’t you know about the female ghost in the east wing’s women restroom?”

“ _A what_ now?”

They both laugh, Yifan-sunbaenim squeezes his hand on Chanyeol’s bony knee.

The last thing Yifan-sunbaenim says to Chanyeol is to tell him that he’s a delight, before there’s a loud creaking, a gush of hot air and someone speaking to them as if they’re spooked animals.

It’s the safety management team, wearing goggles and helmets and technician jumpsuits. Apparently, they’re on the ninth floor; the elevator box halted to a stop a few centimeters below the floor. Some employees are watching the process of evacuation and Chanyeol’s heart is beating so fast when two men are holding out their hands for him, helping him to climb out. He’s ushered to sit down on a stool, and a paramedic is offering an oxygen mask that he gladly accepts. 

Yifan-sunbaenim climbs out the elevator box with grace, thanking the men and shaking hands with what look like the team leader. He’s asked if they need to go to the hospital, and Chanyeol meets Yifan-sunbaenim through a look that says he’s okay and Yifan-sunbaenim decides for them that they just need to lie down in their office’s wellness room on the 19th floor.

After sharing a bottle of mineral water, Yifan-sunbaenim takes his briefcase and Chanyeol’s small backpack in one hand and Chanyeol’s hand in another, pulling Chanyeol close to his side during the elevator ride to their office, accompanied by a small conversation with the safety management team leader.

Not that Chanyeol is complaining, thank you for asking. If it wasn’t Yifan-sunbaenim, he would still hold someone’s hand anyway. He’s closing his eyes through the short elevator ride.

News travel fast. The CEO herself is waiting for them upon arrival, along with her personal assistant, Yifan-sunbaenim’s manager, Chief Choi, Yuri, and Baekhyun and Jongdae who are clutching each other’s arms.

The CEO is a slim woman in her late forties, and from the way she addresses Yifan-sunbaenim with warm familiarity of an auntie to a longtime family friend’s son, Chanyeol thinks that maybe she knew him since he was a child; Yifan-sunbaenim is going to run the company once she retires, right?

Chanyeol tunes out everyone else and releases his hand from Yifan-sunbaenim’s to welcome his best friends’ frantic attention.

“Dude did you get hurt anywhere?!” Baekhyun whispers-yells, grabbing the hem of Chanyeol’s suit. Jongdae is giving him a thorough once-over, patting his stomach and waist and thighs.

“No, I’m fine,” Chanyeol grins, scrunching his nose, “but I’m claustrophobic?”

“You are?” Yuri asks quietly, staying on the side. Chanyeol nods at her, chuckling, he doesn’t want to make her even more worried. He doesn’t see Yoona around, though.

“What the hell is that, man?” Baekhyun grumbles, smoothing Chanyeol’s crooked tie but not buttoning up the shirt. “Do you want anything?”

“Chanyeol-sshi?”

Everyone’s attention is on Chanyeol because Yifan-sunbaenim is calling his name, one hand outstretched to him, head motioning to get going to the wellness room together. 

(Later that day, Chanyeol rushes home to hug Appa, refusing to let go even after Umma hits his butt with a smile on her face while Appa indulges him, continuing to watch his Monday drama like there’s no 6’1 giant of a cute son clinging to his side on the sofa.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

They just _won’t_ let go.

“I told you there’s nothing between us!” Chanyeol protests, hissing at Baekhyun and Jongdae. They’re having lunch at the staff cafeteria, and nothing guarantees the walls won’t talk even if their table is located at the very far end. It’s already weird enough as it is, Chanyeol is so not going to take a risk.

“And what’s up with the crazy romance scenario? Maybe Yifan-hyung is my kind of male senior that I admire? Like Kyungsoo’s Joonmyun and your stoner exchange student-gege!” he glares at Jongdae, who chokes on a spoonful of clear tofu soup.

Baekhyun is snickering.

“Yixing-ge _was not_ a stoner, oh my god,” Jongdae whines, throwing a used napkin to Chanyeol’s chest. 

“Then why should Yifan-hyung be my secret boyfriend or whatever?!” Chanyeol rolls his eyes, whispering the ‘secret boyfriend’ part right as someone somewhere is dropping their utensils to the floor.

“Explain how you went from ‘Yifan-sunbaenim’ to ‘Yifan-hyung’ real quick, dude, because we,” Baekhyun uses his chopsticks to point at himself and Jongdae, sending a bead of rice flying to the sleeve of Chanyeol’s pinstriped suit—“are not buying it yet.”

Chanyeol flicks the rice off then putting a hand to his chest where his heart is, widening his eyes in disbelief. If only Kyungsoo is here, he would support the heck out of him because nothing makes sense anymore!

“He recognized me from Yoora-noona’s online shopping mall!” he whispers, stomping one long leg underneath the table, hitting his knee, making Jongdae’s clear tofu soup spilled a little. Chanyeol apologizes, putting a slice of chicken katsu on Jongdae’s rice bowl. 

“And?” Jongdae prods, like a déjà vu. He drinks the rest of the soup in one go. 

Chanyeol mutters, “And it’s just like what Baekhyun said, he asked for my contact.”

“But seriously, though, this shit is so interesting,” Baekhyun says, higher than his usual tone. He’s done eating and is now leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs. “The way the story develops is just so cute, totally beats any ongoing drama out there.”

Alright. By some absurd reason, Baekhyun’s fellow intern in Business Risk division, a very hot girl named Hani who goes to Ewha Female University, had dropped the most bizarre question to ever exist last week, just a couple of days after The Great Elevator Incident. She asked, and Chanyeol quotes, _If Baekhyun happens to have heard of the rumor going around? That Wu Yifan-sunbaenim is seeing your cute, giant friend from Regional division 1?_ —and Baekhyun would never pass an opportunity to stir some shit up when it concerns his best friends so he pretended to look awkward and he, Chanyeol quotes, _Well I acted like I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone anything muhahaha_ —and how Hani had made an understanding face. Baekhyun swears that Hani can keep a bogus secret, and he heard from her that she heard the rumor first from the CEO’s personal assistant, who, if Chanyeol remember correctly, along with several other including the CEO, Chief Choi, Yuri and the building’s safety management team leader, was present when Yifan held his hand out for Chanyeol to take.

Chanyeol clicks his tongue.

“There is no story, we’re just work acquaintances.”

“Work acquaintances who happen to chat daily on KakaoTalk, sending memes and cute animal videos.”

Chanyeol throws a used napkin and it hits Jongdae square on the face.

“I chat you guys daily on KakaoTalk?” he pouts, spooning the last bite of his chicken katsu curry rice.

Baekhyun tuts. “Yeah, we might hold hands all the time, _friend_ , but we’re not a suspected chaebol who looks like he can be on a GQ cover.”

“The last time I checked, _friends_ , I’m straight.” Chanyeol retorts, sneering.

Jongdae slaps a hand to his own thigh so hard the sound makes both Chanyeol and Baekhyun jump in their seats.

“Duuuuudeee, maybe that’s it? Remember all of your failed girlfriends, Chanyeol-ah?” he giggles, uncontrollably, not giving time for Chanyeol to defend himself from his cruel reality check. “Maybe you will have more luck in dating guys? Remember Choi Taejoon-sunbaenim? He was _smitten_ with you!”

“Hah!” Baekhyun actually yells at the mentioned name. His wide grin is sending Chanyeol an alarm. “Fuck, Choi Taejoon-sunbaenim? Volleyball captain, right? Holy shit, he was so cute? Yah, remember he _always_ gave flowers and that disgusting milk cereal that Chanyeol loves? Holy shit, how is it going with you two?”

“I heard he’s in the army now,” Jongdae pipes in, looking smug to have brought The Phenomenon back to light.

It’s only called that because it’s true; amidst Chanyeol’s failed relationships with girls, there were always guys making their friendly intention shifted to borderline romantic. First there was Taejoon-sunbaenim, a senior in their major, the type of guy who doesn’t have any malicious motive behind what he’s doing, probably kinda naïve for a grown man. Taejoon-sunbaenim is a bit shorter than Chanyeol, well-built, boyish smile. Was voted as the runner up of Mr. Public Relations the year they started uni. Volleyball captain. Had blatantly said that Chanyeol was the cutest on multiple occasions. Drove a motorcycle and literally became Chanyeol’s personal chauffeur. Never said anything about whatever it was (is?) he’s feeling for Chanyeol, but had shyly asked Chanyeol to visit him in his base at Gyeonggi where he’s serving as military instruction assistant, only if Chanyeol has time. Chanyeol does have time. He’s planning to visit Taejoon soon, when the weather is warmer, but he’s not going to tell Baekhyun and Jongdae that.

Then there was Jonghyun-hyung. A quiet, mild-mannered model friend of Yoora, currently expanding his modeling portfolio in Tokyo. They became friends through modeling for her online shopping mall second collection last year. Yoora started her own indie fashion label out of her hobby to design simple blouse for women, and it received a warm welcome from her circle of Instagram influencer friends. In between working fulltime as a newscaster, she began to design more clothing articles for women and men, and thought she would make use of her dear younger brother’s cute face and height, free of charge. Jonghyun was still a rookie model back then, again, a bit shorter than Chanyeol but instead of a boyish smile, his is the most detached, serene smile to ever grace a person’s handsome face.

Baekhyun, Jongdae and Kyungsoo are not aware of Jonghyun being in the list of Chanyeol’s The Phenomenon, but Yoora asked about what their relationship was after Jonghyun drove him home from Ultra Music Festival at seven in the morning. Chanyeol said _We’re just friends, oh my god, noona!_ —completely skipping the detail of them making out while dancing to Martin Garrix.

Chanyeol purses his lips. Like a displeased baby duck. He remembers Taejoon telling him that he looked cute doing that when they were enjoying sunset by the Han River, so it’s still a win.

“You sure have a potty mouth Byun Baekhyun.” Chanyeol mutters, and to answer Jongdae’s question he continues, “Yes, Taejoon-sunbae is in Gyeonggi.”

“Wow, active duty? Seems like the type.” Jongdae whistles, wriggling his eyebrows as if to encourage Chanyeol to just go for it.

“Stop,” Chanyeol cracks a smile. “I’m straight.”

“If you say so,” Baekhyun snorts, declaring that he’s going to get bubble milk tea from the shop down by the subway station. Chanyeol and Jongdae are elbowing each other as they get up, taking the trays with them.

 

  

* * *

 

 

15:11

Wu Yifan sent a picture

 

15:17

PCYeol: shut uppppp das so cuteeeeeee

 

  

* * *

 

 

Chanyeol has had enough.

If the dude thinks Chanyeol doesn’t know that he’s got a bunch of loser friends smirking at their direction, well, he’s truly a fine specimen of stupid, walking testosterone.

So the dude said he looks pretty, all slim body and long, smooth legs nodding his pretty, permed head alone to the beat of Hot Chip’s legendary _Crap Kraft Dinner_ —only to get surprised when Chanyeol replied the compliment in his earth-shattering baritone. The dude smoothly introduced himself as whatever his name was, getting chummy with his mockery about [Chanyeol’s professionally done eye-makeup, the fake freckles and the terracotta blush on his cheeks.](https://pa1.narvii.com/6659/b163099fd1a76e9e56e8c5d39202ab4fbdb11ce7_hq.gif) Chanyeol told the dude that he came straight from a photoshoot and did that hit a jackpot.

The moment the dude leans in to whisper in Chanyeol’s ear that he had always wanted to taste a model, Chanyeol counts to five in his head, puts on his best, prettiest smile for the dude, and pours the rest of his Corona to the dude’s tacky blonde hair.

Chanyeol keeps his best, prettiest smile as the dude stares at him in disbelief and humiliation, and he gives the dude’s loser friends a middle finger as he walks away, heart pounding, cursing underneath his breath because he’s wobbling.

 _God_. This kind of shit always happens whenever he shows up in a club or somewhere dark to have a good time. Random guys approaching just to talk to him with an arrogant assumption that he’s _easy_ is, unfortunately, also in the list of Chanyeol’s The Phenomenon. He doesn’t even wear makeup _everyday_ and he likes how he looks so he decided not to clean his face! Can’t a cute giant like himself have peace on his own—

There’s a big, big hand enclosing his thin wrist easily, and Chanyeol’s heart drops but it’s all instinct when he spins on his classic hi-top Converse to grab the person’s t-shirt collar.

“I swear to fucking God if you touch me again—oh! Oh, Yifan-hyung!?”

The older man is smiling gummily, raising one eyebrow to Chanyeol’s hands on his t-shirt’s collar.

“I’m so sorry!” Chanyeol splutters. He lets go, patting Yifan’s solid clavicles for a good measure. The festival section of the medium sized concert hall is mostly filled with smaller groups of crowd. Chanyeol had already made a scene. People have been looking at him sideways, and eventually giving him and Yifan a wider space.

“I’m really sorry, hyung! What are you doing here?” he asks, letting Yifan throw one heavy arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, moving them further away from the dude and his friends.

Yifan smells like Appa and beer and cigarette. Chanyeol takes a glance of his casual attire tonight; black oversized, oriental tiger print t-shirt with ripped black jeans and black boots. His black hair is down, messy, but looking soft and silky.

“What do you think?” Yifan asks in a challenging tone, mouthing the lyric to _Playboy_ , maneuvering their bodies so now they’re facing the stage. They’re standing near to the exit door now, where it’s sparser compared to where they were before.

Chanyeol gasps, laughing at his stupidity. He leans his weight to Yifan, clasping his hands and yelling, “ _‘You know when I was on the road, that me and you was on the rocks’,_ ” and Yifan follows suit,

“ _‘So low’._ ”

They exchange a grin, and then Yifan lifts his heavy arm, pocketing his hands and nodding his head to the slow tempo. Chanyeol keeps the minuscule distance between them, sighing in a playful dramatic flair.

“Finally, someone who understands me!” he chuckles, giving Yifan a thumbs up. It’s easier to have a conversation here, since they aren’t standing by the speakers.

Yifan smiles. “Why’s that?”

“None of my friends appreciate my music,” Chanyeol huffs, “I’m just glad you’re here, Yifan-hyung.”

“Maybe I should see your Apple Music.”

“Ah, I use Spotify, hyung.”

“Got it. I’ll make an account.”

They focus back on Hot Chip doing a ment, interacting with the audience with a help of a funny translator. A laughter here and there, Yifan running his big, big hand through his hair once, Chanyeol sneezing once, and then, 

“Did that happen often?” Yifan asks, popping a mint. He offers the tin for Chanyeol, but Chanyeol shakes his head.

“What? Me sneezing?” Chanyeol asks instead, sniffing.

Yifan clears his throat, says something that’s incomprehensible. He frowns, and repeats in a louder voice, staring straight ahead, “No. Guys hitting on you.”

Chanyeol pauses.

It’s not like what he’s experiencing is a secret. The Phenomenon has always involved his best friends and Yoora, never a relatively new colleague who might be already involved anyway. _Directly_ , even, with the ridiculous gossip going on in the office. It’s embarrassing, to say the least. 

Besides, Chanyeol identifies as straight although he _doesn’t mind_ the attention from fellow dudes, he can take care of himself whenever he’s confronted by the likes of alpha male wannabe from earlier; that wasn’t the first time. Taejoon and Jonghyun are the nicest examples of those who actually stay, not just harmless flirting in Starbucks or the last subway train.

It’s just. 

He doesn’t know Yifan that well yet. He doesn’t know _where_ the older man stands.

“Ahh, well.” Chanyeol shrugs, opting for a vague response. “More or less.”

Yifan nods, not once or twice, but repeatedly like a bobbing cat on a car’s dashboard, still not saying anything.

Chanyeol shifts, creating a gap between their touching, bare arms.

“I’m, uh,” Yifan rubs his nape with his big, big hand, furrowing his strong eyebrows. “I saw you and that guy, thought you guys were friends. I realized way too late when you poured the beer on him.” He turns his face to smile at Chanyeol, close-mouthed but still so handsome, with his dark eyes transmitting apology.

Chanyeol blinks.

“Are you okay?” Yifan asks, gently, but still apologetic. The big, big hand that was rubbing his nape is hovering in the air, like he’s not sure if he can touch Chanyeol or not.

“I’m fine, hyung.” Chanyeol whispers, visibly deflating, taking a step to get close to Yifan again, heartbeats going wilder compared to when he humiliated the dude from before. 

“Good,” Yifan welcomes him in his embrace, tucking Chanyeol’s head to the crook of his neck, one heavy arm is resting on Chanyeol’s shoulders as he caresses the tips of Chanyeol’s permed hair. 

Fuck it. He can always make an excuse that the thumpthumpthumping of his heart is all thanks to the cheerful beat of _Ready for the Floor._

Chanyeol snakes his arms around Yifan’s torso, thankful by the sense of security the older man emits. On good days, he can’t stand the smell of cigarette that stubbornly stays on fabrics, but he gives tonight—no, he will make Yifan a definite exception. 

They stay tangled like that until the song ends, followed by the intro of _Started Right._ It’s Chanyeol’s favorite song from the band.

“You look different,” Yifan says, tapping his knuckles on Chanyeol’s temple to get his attention.

Chanyeol straightens up, narrowing his eyes.

“Good different or bad different?” he asks, puffing his cheeks and crossing his arms.

Yifan laughs, his head is thrown back and he’s covering his mouth when he looks at Chanyeol the way Joonmyun looked at Kyungsoo a couple of weeks ago.

“Definitely good different,” Yifan gushes, “I love the freckles. You look like a doll.”

Chanyeol feels the flush on his face. He scrunches his nose, sings a line from the song in his head and thinks it’s a good idea to spin for a show. So he does.

“A doll, huh? I’m wearing my noona’s upcoming summer collection,” he says, tilting his head to an angle that he knows is making him look _pretty_. Sure the concert hall lighting is dimmed, but he’s confident Yifan can still _see_. It’s still too early to tell, but Yifan is definitely paving his easy way to be the next Phenomenon.

He’s not sure why he’s indulging his next possible The Phenomenon this early, though.

“Oh?” Yifan, honest to God— _Baekhyun and Jongdae are going to be_ hysteric _when they hear about this_ —is running his eyes from Chanyeol’s head to toe, appraising him quietly. His relaxed stance clearly states that he’s enjoying the sight.

Chanyeol swallows, screaming in his head _What am I doing with a sunbaenim from work??_ —but he’s still spreading his arms and long, thin legs, showing off the mocha colored camp collar shirt with asymmetrical breast pocket and the darker mocha colored khaki shorts that ride up high on his upper thighs.

“I had a photoshoot with her, and came straight here,” Chanyeol tries to mask his mini debacle with a grin and a diversion tactic. “That loser just had to ruin it with his gross innuendo, ugh!”

Yifan chuckles, but quickly composes himself and apologizes.

“You were a badass doll. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

Yifan nods, and as if an afterthought, he asks in a hurried tone, “Are you going somewhere after this?”

Chanyeol digs his nails to his palms. 

“No.” 

“Want to have drinks? I know a place.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yifan drives an Audi. A quite big SUV. Chanyeol likes cars just enough, but he hasn’t got his license yet. The car is beautiful; the black, sleek body is gleaming underneath the street lights. The interior is lavish but masculine, if that’s even possible; all plush leather and wooden inlays. It smells like citrus inside.

They talk about nothing and everything during the drive to Dongdaemun, relishing the Saturday night traffic. Yifan lets Chanyeol play Depeche Mode from his phone’s Apple Music that’s connected to the wireless audio system, and Chanyeol asks how did he give Hot Chip a listen. Yifan says he’s been a massive fan since he was in high school, been following the band from their first album. Chanyeol says he randomly got into Hot Chip last year after listening religiously to Above & Beyond. Yifan hums the chorus of _Sticky Fingers_ , and Chanyeol squeals, shoving Yifan’s shoulders in excitement because _that’s_ a first. Seriously. Neither Taejoon nor Jonghyun share the same music taste with Chanyeol, even though the latter plays guitar. Heck, not even his best friends do!

When there’s a lull in their conversation, Chanyeol rests an elbow on his bare knee and his chin on his palm, scrutinizing the older man on the driver’s seat. Yifan is driving with his left hand, his right is idly resting on the armrest, his sturdy chest is puffed out. Classic swoon-worthy gesture that might have worked wonders for girls, or in romcom dramas Appa loves to watch.

Chanyeol is not a broke, strong-willed heroine. He lives in a real world where a suspected chaebol is befriending him, an upper middle class millennial, out of one unfortunate event that led to him finding out that they both like to spend time watching baby animal videos and listening to the same music. Nothing out of ordinary.

“Hyung, don’t you have a girlfriend?” Chanyeol blurts out.

Yifan scoffs, his crooked smile is addressed to himself rather than to Chanyeol, who grimaces and apologizes cutely.

“And how about you? Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Yifan asks, pinching Chanyeol’s cheek right before another red light. “Or boyfriend?”

Chanyeol giggles, slapping Yifan’s gigantic fingers that smell like cigarette. “Nah,” he answers, pressing the heel of his palm against the spot Yifan just pinched. “I haven’t had any luck with ex-girlfriends.” 

Yifan makes a curious noise. “How so?”

Chanyeol takes a deep breath and reclines his seat an inch lower. “Let’s see,” he muses out loud, holding up his index finger. “The first one went to study in Australia, the one after that fell in love with someone else and the last one said she wasn’t convinced that I was giving her my all.” He finishes with three fingers, and shrugs. “Thank God they didn’t break my heart.” 

“Maybe you broke theirs,” Yifan says, taking the left turn to a quieter block.

“No way!” Chanyeol laughs at the ridiculousness, reminiscing what his latest ex, Risa, said to him as she returned the wristwatch Chanyeol gave for her birthday present. Those were the exact words; that he wasn’t giving his all for her during their six months being together. It had stung, Chanyeol is not going to lie about it.

Chanyeol clicks his tongue. “Nope. What about you, hyung? Any future Mrs. Wu?”

“Not anymore,” Yifan answers, his tone nonchalant, then, “we’re here.”

They’ve arrived in ‘Argyle’. Yifan greets the valet staff by their names and the maître d’ is personally welcoming them, a man in his late thirties who doesn’t bat eyelashes when Yifan puts a big, big hand on Chanyeol’s lower back to let him inside the fine establishment first.

The bar is located right at front, and again, Yifan is greeting the tattooed bartender by his name and a fist bump. There are booth seats surrounding the lounge area, and the high ceiling is showing Seoul’s night sky. Chanyeol likes the vertical strings of bigger than Tumblr fairy light bulbs; they alleviate the classy vibe of Argyle, blending in with the soft orange glow and the designer furniture.

“Where would you like to sit, Chanyeol-ah?” Yifan asks when they’re in the middle of the lounge, scanning the quite busy place.

Chanyeol bites his bottom lip. “Not at the back? But not where it’s too exposed?” he grins, helplessly. This is his first time in this fancier side of Seoul, okay? He goes to places like these with his _family_ , not with a senior from work who is most likely his next The Phenomenon. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

The maître d’ smiles, leading their way to where Chanyeol specifically requested; the booth table is well-hidden by carefully arranged cute plants. Even tall people like both of them need not have to worry about being seen. They get the booth closest to the bar, and Chanyeol sits with his back towards it.

A floor to ceiling window is overlooking a small fountain just outside, where some people are milling about, enjoying the city landscape from above the hill. The maître d’ asks Chanyeol if he wants him to draw the velvet curtains, but Chanyeol shakes his head, thanking him politely.

Yifan says he feels like eating steak. Chanyeol is not sure if he can digest anything that heavy, and settles for chicken quesadilla. They agree on a glass of red wine for starter.

When their wine is finally served, Yifan raises his glass for a toast.

They’re sighing in sync.

Chanyeol still doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Are you a regular, hyung?” Chanyeol asks, smiling, leaning back against the plush chair and crossing his legs.

Yifan nods. “Yes, I like it here.”

“Suppose you can’t ask the manager to change the lounge music?” Chanyeol teases.

Yifan laughs, taking a big gulp of his wine. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m just joking,” Chanyeol shakes his head, resting his elbows on the table. “I like lounge music.”

“What else do you like?”

“What? Music?”

“Anything.”

Chanyeol gnaws on his bottom lip, scrunching his nose in lieu of smiling. This is too easy.

He lifts his wine glass, humming, “I like… No, I love winter. Because my birthday is on November.”

The reaction that Yifan gives is _endearing_. He actually looks like Christmas comes early. Chanyeol is sure that if they weren’t in Argyle, the older man would have squeezed his cheeks just because of that one (1) fact.

“We have the same birthday month,” Yifan says, grinning wide. “I was born on the sixth.”

So that’s why.

“Twenty-fifth,” Chanyeol smiles, ignoring his rapid heartbeats. He says in an obnoxious but playful tone, “I expect nothing but a lavish gift.” 

Yifan snorts, but still looking handsome doing that. “Consider it done,” he tips his glass, “tell me more.”

“Our zodiac is different.”

“True. Next.”

“Are we really doing this? It’s no fun if it’s just me!” Chanyeol whines, knocking his foot to Yifan’s underneath the table and Yifan doesn’t budge. The rough material of his black jeans is pressed against Chanyeol’s bare skin.

Chanyeol takes the bait. He doesn’t move his leg either. 

“Let’s take turn,” he chirps, scooting to sit on the edge of the booth. “Like, one fact about us each.”

“Sure,” Yifan says easily. “I’ll start. I used to play basketball all the way from elementary school to uni.”

Chanyeol claps, giggling. “That’s awesome. I had a pet ferret, his name was Ddori.”

“Like Dooli the dinosaur?” Yifan asks.

“No no, it’s ‘Ddori’,” Chanyeol smiles, but his bottom lip is jutted out. “I loved him so much.”

“You can always get one again.”

“Nooooo I only had it for years because I begged Umma to let me keep him!” 

“Rest in peace, Ddori.”

Chanyeol laughs, finishing his first glass of wine. 

In between confessions of most hated school subjects, some shared creepy stories and how their parents met, the foods come. It’s safe to say that it’s the most delicious chicken quesadilla Chanyeol has ever had. Yifan enjoys his steak with gusto, offering a slice for Chanyeol but it’s already way too weird so he has to decline. The atmosphere is intimate, there’s no other word to describe what Chanyeol is feeling right now.

They’re waiting for their dessert, a plate of Argyle infamous carrot cake, with Chanyeol sipping on a glass of Grasshopper and Yifan a glass of White Russian, when two gorgeous women both with their own fruity drinks in delicate hands, ask if they can join them.

Chanyeol might seem calm on the outside, gripping his cocktail glass nonchalantly and giving the two gorgeous women a quick look—but he’s screaming on the inside. No gorgeous women will ever approach him and his best friends at the club! This is a first! _What should I do?!_

They don’t look that _plastic_ , so it’s a plus. Chanyeol glances at Yifan, noticing the older man’s business smile. He’s about to send him a questioning signal when Yifan says, his tone curt yet pleasant, “As you can see, I already have a wonderful company.” 

Chanyeol almost loses his grip on his cocktail glass. His eyes are the size of the moon. He clamps his lips together, making him look ridiculous, he knows, but he just can’t bring himself to care. Not when the gorgeous women are laughing and apologizing, smiling in a somehow supportive look at Chanyeol, like they’re approving him.

Chanyeol’s face is _burning._

When they’re gone and the carrot cake arrives just in time, Chanyeol fakes his grumbling.

“So what now, Yifan-hyung? Do I have to call you ‘oppa’?” he pouts, crossing his arms, looking at Yifan from behind his eyelashes.

Yifan sputters, knocking over the last inch of his White Russian to the table. Chanyeol is quick to right the capsized glass, preventing the liquor to drip on Yifan’s black jeans.

Chanyeol clicks his tongue as he uses a handful of tissue to wipe the table, enjoying the fact that he can reprimand a suspected chaebol slash a senior from work slash his pretty much the next Phenomenon.

For fun.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that!” Yifan is _blushing_. This is beyond Chanyeol’s ability to comprehend. He pretends to sulk and he swears Yifan might be thisclose to kneel by his side, asking for forgiveness.

“Chanyeol-ah, I didn’t mean that you—”

Chanyeol shakes his head, trying his best to contain his laughter when Yifan stops talking altogether.

“Hyung, listen,” he says, voice low, uncrossing his arms and legs, leaning in to speak in a conspiratorial tone, “want to do something fun?” 

 

* * *

 

 

**pcy1125 shared a story**

 

**byunbh replied**

STFU BRO

 

**kimjd_ae replied**

That who I think it is?

 

**pyoora88 replied**

where do u get rich men tell me

 

**imyoona replied**

Hohoho~

 

**kwonyul replied**

im screaming??

 

**dyoksoo replied**

Nelly_Furtado_Maneater.mp3

 

 

* * *

 

 

Such simple Instagram story could bring the responses he predicted; he explained his silly plan to the group chat and dodged Yoora’s interrogation by locking his room, because he knew his older sister would be busy with her online shopping mall on weekends. Jonghyun-hyung actually called on FaceTime mere hour after he posted the 15 seconds video of him tilting his face to the front camera, still covered with the doll-like makeup and the extra natural flush from all the drinking, sitting prettily in Yifan’s Audi, pouting and puffing his cheeks before moving his phone to film the older man driving, his low voice calling _hyung_ and the video ended with Yifan glancing at him, laughing, easily covering the camera with one big, big hand.

On Monday, Yoora keeps sending him a meaningful look during breakfast. At work, Yoona and Yuri get gigglier and more hysteric than usual. Baekhyun and Jongdae are treating him like royalty, just for the hell of it.

On Tuesday, the news is already spreading.

Chanyeol did his research, inter-office romance is not frowned upon, there is no dating ban whatsoever, but it’s not everyday you get to see an _intern_ who has yet to graduate scoring one of the hottest bachelors around. Let them talk, Chanyeol is having a good time keeping them entertained.

No, scratch that. Them _talking_ is what Chanyeol wants anyway.

And Yifan is more than just cooperative to play along. When he agreed to the tomfoolery, he said the plan ‘seemed like fun’. It _really_ is, especially the looks on people’s faces as Chanyeol strides to the Business Risk Division with his head held high—for the promised, totally orchestrated lunch Yifan had offered to pay last night during their daily KakaoTalk conversation.

Baekhyun even acts like he’s blown by the surprise the moment Chanyeol appears. His best friend should be hailed as the next Won Bin or something—last night, right after Yifan ended their conversation with his usual, very generic Good night, Chanyeol had immediately taken a screenshot of the lunch plan and sent it to their The Beagle Quartet group chat.

Since today is Friday, Yifan had to reserve a table at Rubrica in Westin Chosun Hotel, and they’re taking taxi to get there. Chanyeol insists to pay the fare, but Yifan is having none of it.

Chanyeol jokes, “Might as well buy me a ring soon, hyung.” 

They both can’t miss the not so surreptitious glance the driver is giving them through the rearview mirror, and Yifan said it himself that what they’re currently doing seems fun, remember, so he responds with an equally cheeky remark,

“Sure. Do you want my initial engraved on it?”

Chanyeol laughs until his nose is scrunched. “Wouldn’t have it any other way~” he sing-songs, and Yifan reaches out to pinch his cheek.

Chanyeol puts on makeup for today, knowing that he was to fetch Yifan earlier. He moisturized and used the last of his CC cushion on his face and neck (note to self: buy a new one ASAP!). His long lashes are made thicker with the mascara he borrowed from Yoora’s vanity, making his big, big eyes pop. _Like a doll_ , he had thought when he applied the second layer, then proceeding to dust the same terracotta blush on his cheeks, just enough to be not too visible during the day. He also used Yoora’s brown eyebrow pencil and straightener, only because he didn’t have time to curl his hair.

He grabbed a random lip tint in a hurry. Turned out it’s the perfect shade on him when he put it on with a help from Yoona’s face mirror before making his way to the Business Risk Division—not exactly being discreet with how his desk is located by the main hallway where everyone could see what he’s doing if they happened to.

And from Chanyeol’s experience, somebody almost always happens to _see_.

Yifan finally drops a comment once they’re seated on their table and the waitress left them with the menu.

“Is looking like a doll your concept, Chanyeol-ah?”

Chanyeol bites the wide grin threatening to split his face into two, raising the menu so Yifan can’t see. He has to clear his throat to conceal the giddiness from his voice before he answers, hopefully nonchalantly,

“Why? Just say I look pretty today, hyung, it’s not that hard.”

Yifan blows thin air, smirking and shaking his head in mirth.

“First you want a ring, now you want me to tell you that you look pretty,” he quips, raising one strong eyebrow at Chanyeol, “what’s next? A car?”

“How dare you,” Chanyeol channels his inner actor persona, putting the back of his hand on his forehead and wailing, quietly, “I just want you to love me, is that too much to ask?” 

Yifan hums, eyes never leaving the menu. 

Chanyeol clicks his tongue, huffing, a little bit louder just because. 

“Alright, alright.” Yifan smiles gummily, flicking the menu Chanyeol is holding. Weird way to get his attention, but Chanyeol lets it slide since the older man is paying. 

“Don’t sulk, yeah? What do you want to eat?”

“I want the most expensive item on the menu.” 

“Of course you do.” 

“Hehehe, no, hyung. Can I have baked lasagna and fries?” Chanyeol grins, whooping when Yifan nods. “Aaand I’ll just have sparkling water, please.”

Yifan calls for the same waitress and goes for the routine of ordering. He asks if Chanyeol wants to share a plate of tiramisu, but as tempting as it sounds, Chanyeol has to decline it. He’s still got another five pages of report that needs to be done by today. When Yifan smiles to the waitress, Chanyeol can see that she’s swooning from the way her eyes turn gooey and soft and just _hopeless_ , during the split second Yifan spares her. 

Chanyeol watches Yifan activating his phone’s airplane mode, and he hopes if he does swooning it doesn’t show on his face. 

“Hyung, can I take your picture?” Chanyeol asks after a pause. “Like, for my Instagram story? It’s about time I’m updating about my new ‘man’.” He makes the air quote sign with his fingers, and Yifan laughs.

“Sure, but I have to warn you,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning back against his chair, “I’m suck at posing for pictures.”

“Nonsense, just stay still.” Chanyeol rolls his eyes. He picks his phone and swipes the camera mode, aiming for the good angle but the sun is glaring against the lens.

Yifan straightens his back, lifting his chin half a centimeter. “Like this?”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Should I smile?”

“Umm, no.”

That makes Yifan smile. He apologizes when Chanyeol pouts at him, and covers his mouth using one big, big hand, right on time when Chanyeol moves on his seat to look for an angle that won’t have the sun blocking the light.

_Oh._

Well, Chanyeol takes good pictures. He’s been Baekhyun’s personal photographer for years, so he knows how to work with the tools. Yifan’s eyes are crinkling, an obvious sign of happiness even though his smile is covered. His broad shoulders are filling up his expensive grey suit very nicely and his Rolex is on display. His big hand looks like it can right any wrong, and his biceps are straining against the cotton material.

Chanyeol manages to capture ‘the perfect candid shot’ in his first try; Baekhyun usually needs a few retakes before he’s satisfied with his own ‘the perfect candid shot’ thingy he wants to curate for his Instagram and its modest 5K followers.

The question is; does Chanyeol want to sell Yifan’s on his Instagram, for the sake of people keep talking about them?

“How do I look?” Yifan asks, actually looking nervous like he doesn’t look and built like God personally carved the details Himself.

Chanyeol is almost hesitant to show Yifan the picture. But he gives his phone and Yifan laughs, relaxing against the chair.

“Nice,” he says, pinching Chanyeol’s chin before handing the phone back. “You’re good. AirDrop it for me, I need a new profile picture.”

“I guess you can have it for free,” Chanyeol replies, clapping his hands when their foods arrive.

Yifan articulates his disbelief about Chanyeol’s materialistic tendency and Chanyeol bursts out laughing, whining that he’s just joking. Yifan says he _knows_ Chanyeol is, he himself is just joking.

“You’re weird,” Chanyeol concludes, blowing the steam off his baked lasagna.

Yifan has his silly face (still handsome)—one that he manages to pull off whenever he looks like he’s holding himself back, like he _knows_ that whatever he’s going to say next will sound ridiculous and that Chanyeol won’t hold himself back from teasing him so he’s saying it anyway.

So he says, “Only for you.”

With a wink.

Chanyeol pretends to gag.

 

  

* * *

 

 

14:01

Park Yoora: istg

Park Yoora: are u building a harem

 

14:02

PCYeol: whut??

PCYeol: its all my looks noona dont be silly

 

14:03

Park Yoora: ur face is silly

 

14:04

PCYeol: we r basically twins idk why im more of a boys magnet

PCYeol sent a sticker

 

14:05

Park Yoora sent a sticker

 

14:07

PCYeol: noona! LOL

 

14:08

Park Yoora: but for real who is he?

Park Yoora: jonghyun didn’t work out for you?

 

14:09

PCYeol: he’s a sunbaeeeeeeeeeeeee

PCYeol: from woooooooork

PCYeol: the one i got stuck with in thE elvtor rmb?

 

14:10

PCYeol: since iim cute theres a dating rumor between us

PCYeol: so i asked him to humor it n he said yes sure seems fun

PCYeol: XD

 

14:12

PCYeol: so like now we’re fooling everyone lol

 

14:13

Park Yoora: ssssssssssure

 

14:14

PCYeol: baek n jongdae know!!!!

 

14:15

Park Yoora: don’t get hurt bb bro

Park Yoora: don’t play w fire

 

14:16

PCYeol: lol thanks noona

PCYeol: here have a puppy

PCYeol sent a GIF

 

17:01

PCYeol: also idk what u meant

PCYeol: jonghyunnie hyung is just a friend

 

  

* * *

 

 

Chanyeol and his Regional Division I are doing a thorough research for one of their clients, the Seoul Tourism Board, making them mostly mobile for the whole week. He hasn’t seen Baekhyun and Jongdae at all, but Kyungsoo got free tickets to a musical this Saturday. It’s an adaptation of ‘Grease’, and to celebrate the iconic movie, maybe also because he hasn’t taken pictures for quite some time, Baekhyun suggests to show up dressed like one of the T-Birds in leather jackets, white t-shirt, tight jeans of your choice, white socks and black shoes. For him, it’s a pair of heeled boots, and Jongdae whines that he’s cheating or else he could have worn his.

 _Because we’re both short!_  

Kyungsoo, who’s also short he admitted it himself a long time ago, watches them bicker, sipping on his Coke quietly.

Chanyeol is chanting both of their names, encouraging them but not taking sides.

And gets asked by a couple of cute older women if he’s one of the actors, _Maybe you guys are one of the extras?_ —to which Baekhyun answers,

“We’re not, but for you, noona? Sure.”

Not surprisingly, these cute older women buy it. They’re a duo, and one takes an instant liking to Kyungsoo who visibly rolled his eyes at Baekhyun’s greasy pick-up line. It happens. Sometimes it’s Chanyeol who gets approached, sometimes it’s Jongdae. They all get the same spotlight.

“Yah, time to take my OOTD,” Chanyeol says, nudging his phone to Jongdae. They move to the side, away from their busy friends. Chanyeol brushes off imaginary dusts from the lapel of his black leather jacket, looking down at his plain white t-shirt, classic blue jeans that fit him just right and his most trustworthy classic hi-top Converse. He doesn’t put on makeup today, but he drew his eyebrows and swept off his fringe to show his forehead. Yoora helped him with the hairspray.

“For your sugar daddy?” Jongdae leers, wriggling his eyebrows and taking steps back so he can get Chanyeol’s whole 6’1. He mumbles, glaring to the phone’s screen in search of the perfect angle, “Cross your goddamn twig legs. It’s sexy.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol pouts but does as he’s told. “Like this?” he leans against the wall, crossing his arms and tilting his shoulders to one side, cocking his hips and crossing his long, long legs.

Jongdae nods, concentrating on taking a good shot. He’s a good apprentice. Kyungsoo is just lazy whenever Chanyeol tries to teach him the art of photography. 

“Should I smile?” 

“You’re a T-Bird, _snarl._ ”

 

22:01

PCYeol sent a picture

PCYeol: a handsome doll perhaps??

 

22:02

Wu Yifan: Nope

Wu Yifan: Still cute

 

Chanyeol snorts. That’s a compliment, he’ll take it.

He’s zooming in the few pictures Jongdae took for him, thinking to post the best one in his Instagram story but which one is it, phew, when Yifan sends him a picture back.

 

22:09

Wu Yifan sent a picture

Wu Yifan: My turn

 

It’s a mirror selca. Yifan is standing still, eyebrows furrowed slightly with his chin locked down and his big, big hand holding the phone is covering the lower part of his face. He’s wearing a plain white shirt and expensive-looking black cotton jacket. Dark blue washed jeans. No Rolex and shoes in sight. His black hair is a mess, telling Chanyeol that he’s currently at home. There’s bit of his minimalistic furniture in the background, but still, it’s just good to know that Yifan is not somewhere where Chanyeol is not with him, although of course there is _no way_ Yifan doesn’t have anyone willing to accompany him on a Saturday night.

Then better ask for yourself, Park Chanyeol.

 

22:10

PCYeol: going out hyung?

 

22:11

Wu Yifan: Nope

 

Chanyeol blinks, setting aside his relief to type,

 

22:12

PCYeol: u look like god lol

PCYeol: so unfair

 

22:13

Wu Yifan: Being a doll isn’t enuf for you?

 

22:14

PCYeol sent a sticker

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Umma, Appa, I’ll get going!” Chanyeol calls out from the hallway, sitting down to wear his shiny Air Force 1 that he wiped clean last night for today. After an uneventful week at the office—not even their usual Friday lunch with Yifan!—Chanyeol got a surprise phone call from Taejoon; he’s back for his quarterly three days off, so _Why don’t we have late lunch in Myeongdong? My treat._

The I missed you was left unsaid but of course Chanyeol is going.

Umma is approaching him, her reading glasses are perched on her nose.

“Is that Taejoon? Is he back from the army?” she asks, having peered through the curtain, for sure. She knows about Taejoon since he drove Chanyeol home all the time back then. She even memorized Taejoon’s license plate and the color of his motorcycle and helmet just because.

Chanyeol shakes his head, tying his left shoe. “He’s on leave, umma. The quarterly three days off?” he goes to his feet, towering over his Umma and smiling.

Umma hums her understanding, raising a scrutinizing eyebrow at his attire. They’re nothing special, just a plain white t-shirt that’s at least two sizes bigger tucked in ripped black jeans. She pats his arm and says, “Enjoy your date, Chanyeol-ah.”

But before Chanyeol can whine that Taejoon. Is. Just. A. Friend—Yoora chirps in from the kitchen, her tone annoying and meant to irk her younger brother, “That poor guy is just a friend, Umma. Did you know Yeollie scored a young sugar daddy? Very hot. Probably mixed.”

Chanyeol gasps just as Yoora appears with black charcoal mask smeared all over her face, “ _Noona!_ ”

Yoora’s eyes have a maniacal look on them as she mocks, “ _Park Chanyeol!_ ”

“Don’t make the poor guy wait, then.” Umma grins, clucking her tongue. “And to think that your noona is still single…”

Chanyeol guffaws at Yoora’s widened eyes at what their Umma just said to her and he’s still giggling when he hops to the front gate to greet Taejoon.

Now that’s a familiar sight; clad in dark colors, Taejoon is perched on his beloved Daelim Daystar 250, the body sleek and polished, all black everything. He’s _beaming_ at Chanyeol, and Chanyeol can’t help but to run to him in full speed, throwing himself to hug the older man’s broad shoulders.

“I’ve missed you!” Chanyeol gushes, squeezing Taejoon’s firm biceps. Taejoon’s close-cropped hair suits his thinner face, but thankfully his smile is still as boyish as ever. He’s tanned for obvious reasons, and his muscles are at the right places.

“Look at you, sunbaenim. This is so unfair!” Chanyeol whines, frowning as he puts his hands on Taejoon’s warm neck.

Taejoon chuckles. “How so?” he asks, putting one hand on Chanyeol’s lower waist, keeping him pressed close without adding actual pressure, an automated move he did a lot from what seemed a long time ago.

Chanyeol playfully rolls his eyes at Taejoon’s attempt to fish for compliments, but he pretends to grumble, “You’ve gotten more _handsome._ ”

“I’m glad,” Taejoon smiles, never looking away from Chanyeol’s eyes. “Your eye makeup is so pretty.”

Chanyeol _preens,_ his eyelashes are fluttering at the candid praise. His outfit might be plain but he did take his time to look pretty for Taejoon, thinking that it’s the least he can do for a sunbaenim from university who has been nothing but sweet to him.

“Your helmet?” Taejoon asks, genuinely wondering.

Chanyeol yelps, turning around to run back to the house. Umma is already waiting by the front door with the said helmet in her hands; it’s a gift from Taejoon, an equally sleek and black thing that fits in Chanyeol’s head nicely. It always looks good with any outfit, that’s the most important thing, also what Taejoon had said to him back then.

Taejoon is dismounting his motorcycle to bow at Umma, the posterboy of a good man he is. Umma’s smile is wide and bright, like an approval. Chanyeol watches the exchange with what he thinks is something that resembles a jitter, although not quite. He’s not sure why.

Riding Taejoon ’s motorcycle always feels like flying. The older man is never reckless yet he knows when to speed up. He doesn’t talk when he’s driving, said that he needs to concentrate.

Chanyeol can maneuver a scooter with automatic transmission just fine. 

In no time at all they’re at Myeongdong. The café is called Namusairo, located close to Gyeongbukgung Palace. The streets are quiet, keeping noises and even the crowds from it.

Taejoon holds open the door for Chanyeol. The place is vintage, that’s the first thing that comes to Chanyeol’s mind upon entering. A traditional Korean house turned into a cozy little café in the middle of busy Seoul, a hidden gem. Trust Taejoon to find one that rhymes with sweets.

“As expected from the notorious sugar gangster,” Chanyeol quips, elbowing Taejoon’s side. ‘Sugar gangster’ is how Taejoon is remembered in university; he might look like a gangster with how he almost always dressed in black, with his black motorcycle and a hard set of expression that turns boyish once he smiles—especially when you get him anything sugary sweet. For all that Chanyeol is often called the prettiest, he doesn’t even like sweet treats that much.

According to Jongdae, a long time ago, they’re The Perfect Match.

“I promise you’ll find something you’ll like, Chanyeol-ah,” Taejoon smiles, nodding to the server who takes them to the small, open yard in the middle of the house. They get the table near the entrance and the weather is just perfect.

Ah, Choi freaking Taejoon. He’s always so considerate and did Chanyeol mention _sweet?_ Because he is.

As it turns out, the carrot cake Chanyeol picks is, again, just perfect. The cappuccino is exceptionally good, totally different from packaged or big chain ones.

Satisfied, Chanyeol turns his focus on Taejoon, who has a big slice of chocolate cake with a tall glass of blended dark mocha; the sweetened whipped cream is abundant and sprinkled with cinnamon powder. Chanyeol wants to take a picture. 

“Good, sunbaenim?” Chanyeol asks, putting his elbows on the table so he can rest his chin on his palms.

“Yeah,” Taejoon beams, shifting his chair closer but minding their knees. Then, always out of nowhere, like his brain doesn’t have any intention to filter his mouth, “Did I tell you already that you look so pretty today?”

Chanyeol’s been there before so he manages to keep his face impassive with a shrug. “Only fifty other times,” he answers, and smiles when Taejoon laughs sheepishly. “You, too, sunbaenim. I’ll tell you again that you look so handsome it’s so unfair, okay?” 

Taejoon shakes his head, has never been good with direct compliment. He fiddles with his big, veiny hands on the table. His nails are trimmed and clean.

“Can you call me hyung?” Taejoon asks, softly, quietly, a small smile is on his lips as he looks straight into Chanyeol’s eyes. “It’s—uh. We’ve been friends for a few years. If that’s okay with you.” 

Now that Chanyeol thinks about it, it didn’t take him three years to call Jonghyun and Yifan ‘hyung’.

“Kinda random, huh?” Taejoon chuckles, nervously if Chanyeol might assume, when Chanyeol hasn’t answered yet.

“It’s fine, sunbaenim,” Chanyeol grins at his habitual slip, and corrects himself. “Taejoon-hyung. I wonder why.”

“My day feels better already.”

“Whaaaaat? Whyyy, who dares to make my hyung’s day miserable?”

Taejoon laughs, loud, and then they talk about nothing and everything. How enlisting is actually not that hard. But how about what you’ve learned in uni, hyung, did you get to implement anything? Yeah, research, mostly. And public speaking. People only listen to you because you look like a gangster, hyung. Ah, I remember a kid did ask me about that when my platoon helped building a road in a Gangwon village. Oh my god, really, I’m so sorry! And Taejoon just laughs, heartily, handsomely.

They continue to Dongdaemun to go shopping. Taejoon needs a few essentials and Chanyeol takes a picture of the Design Plaza, posting it in his Instagram story and tagging Taejoon’s account, adding a red heart emoji along.

They have dinner at their favorite spicy stir-fried chicken in Myeongdong, sharing a bottle of cold, peach flavored soju. When they stroll around the area, a professional looking woman is approaching Chanyeol, speaking in professional tone and handing a glossed business card. Another model management. Chanyeol gives her his best disarming smile and puts the card in his wallet. This isn’t the first time and Taejoon knows that, whistling when he reads the agency’s name. The biggest to date. Chanyeol will think about it and he gets distracted with a tiny shop selling a variety of cute socks. He buys two pairs of printed watermelons and a plain nude color.

The ride back home is… peaceful. He holds on tight to Taejoon’s waist.

Taejoon parks his motorcycle and takes his helmet off, hanging it over the mirror. He looks up and says, smiling, “Chanyeol-ah, thanks for today.”

“Hyung, _please,_ what’s with the awkward vibe!” Chanyeol clicks his tongue, playfully, and scrunches his nose. “I had a good time.” He nods, keeping their arms touching, waiting because he knows Taejoon has something more to say.

“I’m glad,” Taejoon hums, and at Chanyeol’s earnest attention he apologizes, reaches a hand out to rest it on Chanyeol’s face, his thumb stroking the warm skin before he leans to kiss Chanyeol’s lips gently.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

21:09

Wu Yifan: Hey

Wu Yifan: Are you busy?

Wu Yifan: Was wondering if we can get a drink

 

21:10

Wu Yifan: Felt like I haven’t seen you in years

 

22:39

PCYeol: hyung sorry does the offer still stand?

PCYeol: can u pick me up?

PCYeol sent a location

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Yifan arrives exactly fifteen minutes later and Chanyeol jumps from where he’s sitting on the front steps. He leaves his helmet and shopping bag right there and runs through the front yard, feeling the déjà vu of what he did from… like, years ago. This time, he’s running to another man’s arms, hopefully the right one.

Chanyeol’s heart is pounding, it’s screaming at him in his ears. 

He opens the passenger door with trembling hands.

He plops down on the leather seat and just by sheer inner force he’s not slamming the door.

“Hi,” Yifan greets him. His small smile seems to contain a question or two or eight but he’s holding himself back, probably already noticing Chanyeol’s state of… _mild_ distress.

“Hi,” Chanyeol swallows noisily, “hyung.”

“Is this your house?” Yifan asks, craning his neck to peer towards the quiet two-story. Everyone is already asleep.

“Yes.” Chanyeol answers robotically, wringing his hands on his lap, swallowing again. He should have just got in to get a glass of water while waiting for Yifan. His head feels way too light and his lips and throat are dry.

Yifan waits for a few moments before he asks, closer than before in the luxurious space of his Audi SUV,

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” Chanyeol’s answer comes too fast and he’s tripping over his own confusion, “No. No, I’m—hyung. Can we. Can I kiss you?”

Yifan gives an amused, if surprised, laugh.

“Are you sure?” he asks, probably just to be polite. Each Phenomenon has and will always want to kiss Chanyeol at some point.

Chanyeol curls his hands into fists. He shifts so he can surge forward to press a close-mouthed kiss to Yifan’s lips.

Yifan still smells like Appa, the infamous CK One, but there’s a subtle scent that’s way too sweeter to be Yifan’s own.

“You taste like ash.”

Yifan scoffs, keeping their noses close. “Says the guy who kissed like a preschooler,” he retorts without heat, an infuriatingly handsome smirk adorning the curl of his lips. Even under the dim lighting from a street lamp outside, Chanyeol is in awe. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me what was that all about?”

Chanyeol takes a deep breath.

“Perhaps you’re mistaking me for someone else?”

“ _No,_ hyung, it’s…” Chanyeol whines at his lack of poise. His heart is thundering in his chest and he can feel sweats forming on the sides of his nose. He wonders if his makeup is still in tact or not.

“I’m sorry. That must be weird.” Chanyeol sniffs, pinching the skin on the back of his left hand. He can’t bring himself to look up.

Yifan hums. “I’m not complaining.”

“You’re a pro at sweet talk,” Chanyeol pouts, worrying his bottom lip. He doesn’t like _like_ how Yifan taste but kissing him doesn’t feel wrong. He clears his throat, glancing at Yifan who is still _staring_ at him, and frowns.

“What?” Yifan asks, gently, teasingly.

“What?” Chanyeol huffs, crossing his legs and hitting his left knee on the dashboard. He cries out, “ _God!_ ”—and he can’t help but to be a little bit hysteric when Yifan laughs at him.

“I’m sorry, hyung. I really am.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” Yifan says, placing one big, big hand on Chanyeol’s knee, squeezing it, keeping still as he asks again, “But what is it that’s not fine? Do you need anything?”

Chanyeol shakes his head. He got what he wanted, even though it wasn’t enough.

Then Yifan asks, softly, “Can I kiss you again?”

Chanyeol’s eyes widened. He hears Yifan just fine, but. Glancing at Yifan from behind his eyelashes, Chanyeol sees nothing but sincere anticipation that fits so well with everything he thinks he wants and so he gives the slightest nod and closes his eyes.

It starts off hesitant; Yifan probably thinking that Chanyeol is minding his nicotine breath and Chanyeol trying his best to shut off the screaming in his head. But neither is complaining. Their locked lips seem to enjoy each other’s company. After the initial hesitation, Chanyeol is more than glad to tilt his head, to open his mouth a little bit wider to let Yifan’s tongue slip inside. There’s a bubbling of impatience in Chanyeol’s chest, and he becomes a little bit overwhelmed. Sure the screaming is casted aside, but right now he really needs to slow down.

He needs to hold on to something.

Yifan takes his hands, enveloping them, and Chanyeol sighs into the kiss, entwining their fingers and pulling Yifan’s big, big hands to his chest, tilting his head and pushing for a deeper kiss.

Yifan is the first to break off the kiss, their lips smacking wetly. He runs a hand through the back of Chanyeol’s head, keeping him close, whispering,

“Can I take you to mine?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yifan lives in Gangnam, just five minutes from Garosu-gil.

The traffic is, like always, maddening, so it’s already midnight when they arrive in the basement parking lot. The elevator takes them to the 12th floor. 

It’s… small. Yifan’s place is small. Not that Chanyeol expected something fancy from a suspected chaebol, no. It’s just. It’s probably the size of _his bedroom,_ yet it has everything; a king-sized bed tucked in one corner, a huge flat screen, a dining table with two chairs, a minuscule yet sophisticated kitchen with sleek refrigerator _and_ a washing machine in one cramped space. Sparse decoration, save for one Seoul National University pennant tacked on one side of the wall that’s filled with the world’s paraphernalia, probably places Yifan’s been to, somewhere that Chanyeol is not sure he can pronounce correctly.

The view though.

The view is _fantastic_.

[One wall is comprised of a window; the heavy curtains are opened, overlooking the trendy neighborhood and all the residency buildings. Tall silhouette of hills and telecommunications towers. On their right, half of the wall is comprised by a window seat, showing the more commercial side of Garosu-gil. Neon billboards and big name brands are casting different colored lights on Yifan’s light grey bed sheet.](https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/20546115?guests=1&adults=1)

Chanyeol pads inside barefooted, and sits on the dining chair at Yifan’s permission.

“What would you like to drink?” Yifan asks, opening the sleek refrigerator. He doesn’t have to bend to look inside. “I have beer, vodka, apple juice, soy milk… Uh, protein shake? Ha ha ha.”

“I’ll have a glass of water, hyung, thank you.” Chanyeol answers, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, watching Yifan take out a glass and filling it with water from a dispenser.

Chanyeol doesn’t look at Yifan as he gulps the water down, sniffing when he puts the glass on the table.

“I’m just going to,” Yifan tilts his head towards the door on his left, right by the entryway. “Or do you want to use the toilet first?”

Chanyeol blurts out, “Can I take a quick shower?”

“Sure thing,” Yifan answers easily, “take your time.” He goes to his built-in closet to take out a fresh towel, an unassuming white boxer and a set of silk pajama, colored like the firstborn blue night sky. “Do you want me to put your clothes in the machine?”

Chanyeol shakes his head, getting up from the dining chair and taking long steps so he’s chest to chest with the older man. He tiptoes and leans his weight to Yifan’s body, lifting his arms and wrapping them around Yifan’s neck, kissing him like he can’t remember what Yifan tasted like.

“Your hair’s grown.” Yifan breathes out when Chanyeol inhales the side of his face and he speaks right through their eye contact and his caressing fingers on Chanyeol’s hair, “You’re so pretty, do you know that?”

“I do,” Chanyeol whispers, squaring his shoulders. “Kiss me again.”

Yifan does, but it’s just a quick peck. He bites Chanyeol’s bottom lip before slithering into the sleek, minimalistic bathroom, putting the towel and pajama on top of a marbled counter.

Chanyeol wonders if Yifan will still tell him that he’s pretty as he scrubs the makeup off his face using Yifan’s expensive face wash. The shower’s temperature is perfect, not too cold nor too warm, and he roughly towels his damp hair. He doesn’t have eyebags whatsoever, no acne at all, but, like, will Yifan still want to look at him? Wearing his slightly loose, expensive silk pajama and smelling of his refreshing saltwater and lemon body wash?

Yifan is lounging by the cushioned window seat, a can of Hite in one hand. His long legs are folded underneath him.

Chanyeol is having another déjà vu.

“You’re wearing the clothes from the selca.”

“I’m what?” 

“The selca you sent me last week.”

Yifan frowns, but then he nods. “Right, right. I was on an arranged date today,” he waves the hand holding the beer, “didn’t go well.”

“Oh.” Chanyeol blinks, but it will look silly if he stops halfway to sit next to Yifan on the window seat, so he marches on, careful to keep a distance between them.

Yifan has taken off the black cotton jacket, the first three buttons of his white shirt undone. He’s wearing an undershirt, not even a tank or something. Chanyeol can’t remember ever seeing anyone this young wearing an undershirt anymore; _Appa_ does, but it’s weird that Chanyeol is still surprised to find another new similarity between Yifan and Appa. 

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” 

“Just thought you look like you have questions.” Yifan shrugs, taking a sip of the beer. Chanyeol is not a big fan of Hite, he prefers Cass. “So. You don’t?” 

Chanyeol shakes his head. “I don’t.” 

“Alright, I have,” Yifan says, a bit louder, like he’s declaring a new turn of their ongoing conversation. “Where can I touch you?”

Chanyeol doesn’t know why his tone is sharp when he answers, “I think we know which part of me you’re going to touch when you asked me to come with you here.”

“Sassy,” Yifan hums, his voice unreadable, “that’s new.” 

Chanyeol sighs. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, because he’s sure apologizing seems like the right thing to do. 

Yifan reaches a hand, thumbing Chanyeol’s chin and keeping it there. Chanyeol looks up, nuzzling to Yifan’s big, big hand on the side of his face and neck.

“I don’t want you to regret this in the morning, Chanyeol-ah,” he says, gently, like he’s speaking to a spooked pet or a child, either or and none is what Chanyeol wants Yifan to see him as. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I’m—” Chanyeol has to physically halts himself from shouting. He closes his eyes, takes a deep, deep breath and takes the beer from Yifan’s hand, downing the rest in one go just to elongate the silence.

After a couple of deafening heartbeats, Yifan takes the emptied can and crushes it. Chanyeol wipes his mouth with his palm and digs his nails to the skin of his ankles. The city lights are beautiful from this height. Yifan goes to sleep to this kind of scenery and he wakes up to it as well. How wonderful.

Chanyeol turns his head, not giving a damn about being discreet about his feeling at all and confesses, 

“I’m just scared I’m going to like it too much.”

Yifan grins, his dark eyes are twinkling. “I’m flattered, but don’t get your hopes up,” he snorts, still handsomely, and in a split second he’s moving with the kind of grace Chanyeol can never possess, taking Chanyeol’s waist and repositioning him so Chanyeol’s back is facing him and Chanyeol is facing the world and Yifan is on his knees on the floor in an instant, talking in a very husky tone, “But let me take care of you.” 

Chanyeol releases a shaky breath when Yifan presses a chaste kiss to his nape, his big, big hands going straight to slip inside the silk material, mapping Chanyeol’s warm skin from the waist up and up to Chanyeol’s chest. Yifan cups his pecs, rubbing the nubs of his nipples as he presses his denim clad groin right against the swell of Chanyeol’s ass.

It’s strange, to experience another man’s hardening cock pressing against your body for the first time.

Jonghyun had never initiated anything beyond kissing; their making out at Ultra Music Festival only happened because they both were tipsy, surrounded by gross couples everywhere.

Chanyeol freaked out when Taejoon kissed him just hours ago, no matter how tender and innocent the kiss was.

“I’ve never—are we going to—” Chanyeol gasps when Yifan tugs down the pajama pants and the boxer. Chanyeol reaches out blindly to get a cushion, shielding his face from view as he pushes his ass back to the kiss Yifan is giving it.

He manages to whimper, “Hyung, _the curtains,_ are we going to…”

Yifan asks, distractedly, as he grabs Chanyeol’s asscheeks in his big, big hands, “Do you want me to draw them closed?”

“Do you not want to?”

“No.”

“Then, then I’ll do what you want.”

Yifan pauses. He literally pauses like someone flicks the power button off and he’s stopped functioning. Chanyeol has to look over his shoulders to make sure the older man is alright.

Yifan blinks. When he finally meets Chanyeol’s eyes, his eyes have this predatory look on them, if that’s even possible, even though there’s no other word to describe how _feral_ Yifan appears to be right now that Chanyeol’s cock jerks a little bit.

And then Yifan _smiles._ Handsomely, so out of this world, so right, and teases,

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Chanyeol whimpers, closes his eyes and _waits_.

He gets a tongue. Long. Wet. Moving with clear intent to turn him pliant under the ministration. Yifan licks a long stripe from Chanyeol’s tailbone down and down to the rim of his ass where his tongue moves in circle. It’s merciless and impatient, and Yifan uses his thumbs to spread Chanyeol’s asscheeks wider to make more room for his tongue to explore. He gathers a considerable amount of saliva on the tip of his tongue as a makeshift lube to ease his way into Chanyeol’s clenching hole.

Chanyeol’s knees are quivering. He shifts to dip his back lower, presenting his ass for Yifan, and Yifan hums in an appreciative tone just before he _spits_ right in Chanyeol’s hole, followed by his index finger pushing inside.

Chanyeol is already drooling. There’s a large, wet patch where his mouth is biting on the cushion; he can get too vocal during sex, as his exes had pointed out, although he’s not sure if it’s a good thing or not with Yifan, seeing how Yifan is eating his ass so, so well down there. The filthy slickslickslick sounds beat any porno Chanyeol has ever watched in his life.

Yifan isn’t playing around. He scrapes his teeth at places Chanyeol didn’t even know could turn him on this much he has to pinch his nipple himself to satisfy his _needs._

Chanyeol’s cock is dripping, he knows his balls are filled and heavy. He can’t help it anymore. He moves his hips to hump the edge of the window seat, the rough material is giving him the friction his cock wants while Yifan is introducing the second finger in his hole. Yifan’s mouth is wrecking his ass so hard and then he’s sinking his teeth on the swell of Chanyeol’s left asscheek, his free hand is holding the other asscheek apart.

Chanyeol is grunting when Yifan puts in the third finger but slipping his tongue out so he can press small kisses to Chanyeol’s spine—and Chanyeol shouts loudly when Yifan spreads his fingers inside, rotating his wrist and tapping something with the longest finger, causing his whole body to shudder violently the second time Yifan does so, and keeps hitting the delicious spot there! _Right there!_ —until Chanyeol’s eyes are rolled to the back of his head, until he loses all his voice and has his mouth hanging open in an ‘O’ and his cock spurting precome after precome and he’s only making noises again when Yifan pulls out his fingers altogether.

Chanyeol is whining, high-pitched, like it hurts. He’s sweating and he wants to come. He recalls vaguely that Yifan is whispering something to him before the weight on his back disappears, leaving Chanyeol to curl on himself because the cold AC is hitting his bare skin.

His heart is hammering in his chest.

His hardhardhard cock is purpling.

His empty hole is throbbing. And wet. Which is not bad, per se, because deep down, and he’s only going to admit this once or whenever he’s getting fucked like this; he likes it. Likes feeling wanted in such sensual way, glad to know that someone, a Wu Yifan nonetheless, is hard because of him.

Yifan comes back with a minty breath kiss and his touch smells like refreshing saltwater and lemon. Chanyeol throws his arms around Yifan’s neck, kissing back like he’s going to drown if they ever stop and Yifan is smiling against his desperation—he’s mumbling something about getting him to bed and come on be a good doll for me.

When Chanyeol manages to refocus his blurred vision, he’s lying on the king-sized bed with Yifan on top of him; he’s in the middle of taking off his white shirt. Then Yifan tosses the undershirt aside carelessly to the floor and Chanyeol takes a _good_ look.

Yifan looks like someone who can’t be bothered to work out. He did say he played basketball for years; the lack of six packs is compromised by naturally wide shoulders and defined stomach and ribs muscles. His arms are nice. They flex just right as Yifan unbuttons his dark blue washed jeans to take out his erection.

And that’s a nice, cut cock as well. Big. Chanyeol is not small himself, but Yifan’s is thicker. More veiny. Hairy. Chanyeol trims, because even when he still had girlfriends he wanted to look pretty basically everywhere.

Chanyeol’s cock twitches when Yifan begins stroking his own cock to get it even harder. And bigger.

God.

_Yes._

“’Yes’?” Yifan mocks, smirking and raising one infuriating eyebrow at Chanyeol.

Chanyeol huffs, reaching down to his own cock and tries to mimic Yifan’s movement.

“Come on,” he slurs, lifting his right leg and resting it on Yifan’s thigh. His toes are pressed against Yifan’s abdomen and he shifts down so his ass is practically on Yifan’s lap.

Yifan chuckles, low, the sound is sending a pleasant tingle to the base of Chanyeol’s spine.

“Come on, hyung,” he says again, lifting the hem of the silk pajama until his long, white torso and perk nipples are on display. He spreads his legs, making a wide V in the air, a blatant invitation. “Or, what, _come in._ Whatever.”

Yifan curses. Loud. His big, big hands are fumbling with a bottle of lube.

Chanyeol holds his breath when Yifan slicks his hard cock.

Chanyeol moans when Yifan grasps his left ankle and uses his free hand to tease the length of his cock against his ass and balls and back to his awaiting hole. 

“Fuck,” Chanyeol breathes religiously when Yifan pushes in the cockhead, hands clutching both the sheets and Yifan’s straining arm.

It feels weird. It’s a fucking tight fit inside and Chanyeol has never been stretched like this before, ever in his life. Has watched gay pornos, sure, but never did what the actors do to themselves no matter how amazing their coupling looked and sounded like. Yifan’s cock is piercing through him. It pushpushpushes until Yifan is in to the hilt, until Yifan’s hips are meeting Chanyeol’s ass—until Chanyeol is sure that he can feel the whole of Yifan _in his stomach._ Moving. Pulling out. Only a few inches, then pushing back in. And repeat.

Repeat, again and again, until Chanyeol can feel himself loosening down there, can feel and hear the slicked, filthy sounds Yifan’s cock is making in him. He’s not complaining, it’s an acquired sensation to be fucked open, but his inner thighs are protesting having spread so wide around Yifan’s hardworking hips. 

His cock, to his horror, is gradually deflating.

Yifan doesn’t look so good himself, like it also hurts him to be inside of Chanyeol. He doesn’t seem to be aware of Chanyeol’s situation as he grabs the back of Chanyeol’s knees, almost folding him into half—and Chanyeol’s surprised squeak turns into a full-blown whining when Yifan’s cock finally hits the same spot from before.

“Hyung, hyung, _hyung…_ ” Chanyeol sobs, chasing the electric shock Yifan’s cock did in him by raking his blunt nails on Yifan’s slippery back.

“Please. That felt good,” he grunts when Yifan pulls out until only the cockhead is inside before slamming back in.

“Yeah, well,” Yifan grins, sniffing, thrusting his hips in short staccato, “tell you what—” He pulls out, carelessly, and flips Chanyeol over to his hands and knees like Chanyeol weighs nothing. He soothes Chanyeol’s whining with his big, big hands drawing circles on Chanyeol’s hips and ass, and it’s all down to basic instinct from then on.

“ _Fuck_ you look so fucking hot, Chanyeol-ah,” Yifan growls, squeezing Chanyeol’s asscheeks, hard, savoring the plumpness and smacking them just because he can, like an afterthought, not giving time for Chanyeol to breathe because he’s slipping his cock inside right away, filling in to the hilt again, grinding. Yifan is growling like it no longer hurts him, like this is how everything should be with Chanyeol down on his elbows in his king sized-bed, with the curtains open and the mellow orange lights on so if anyone happens to see—and from Chanyeol’s experience, somebody almost always happens to _see_ , remember—they will see Yifan throwing his head back to the ceiling, eyes closed, jaw clenched, his stomach taut and tense; enjoying the tight warmth Chanyeol’s hole is providing with his big, big hands creating bruises on Chanyeol’s slim waist and his hips thrusting in a solid rhythm that leaves no room for Chanyeol to breathe.

Chanyeol can’t move a hand to stroke his cock, not with how euphoric his whole body feels every time Yifan’s cockhead hits the spot like there’s a magnetic pull inside. The top of his head, dampened with sweat now, his fringe is plastered to his forehead and nape—to the tips of his toes are _tingling_ with pleasure. Chanyeol thinks he’s being quiet but maybe his moans are drowning out by how loud the squeaking from the bed is.

“Hyung, please,” he pleads, even if he doesn’t know what he’s pleading for, his teeth knocking with how hard Yifan’s thrusts are. 

Yifan gives a low grunt above him before he manages to slow down to ask, voice rough, “Close?” he pushes deeper and stays big as he leans down to kiss Chanyeol’s nape.

“Uh-huh,” Chanyeol hums, pushing back to Yifan’s cock, spreading his knees a little bit more. If he straightens his back he will be sitting in Yifan’s lap like a good doll he is, he thinks. 

Yifan takes a sharp breath, inhaling the crook of Chanyeol’s neck. His cock is heavy and a rock-hard presence in Chanyeol’s ass. 

“Good, let go.” Yifan grunts, raw and commanding, before pushing Chanyeol down by the shoulders, pulling Chanyeol’s hips out and taking a firm hold of Chanyeol’s cock and fucks harder, faster that Chanyeol only needs a dozen or so quick stroking before he comes, vison turning white then black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. SEQUEL~

 

 

 

[my friends, dear subscribers, that's right it's me and behold for SEQUEL](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17766539/chapters/41920949)~

 

hope to see you there soon with lotsa kudos and comments

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>  sooooooo sequel? tell me yes/yes in the comment~


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